born with an indomitable resolution. He had early formed his ideal of life, and every spring of his vigorous will was stretched at full tension in the effort to attain it. His was no ordinary courage. That he was physically brave is only to say he was a Mughal Prince of the old lion-hearted stock. But he was among the bravest even in their valiant rank. In the crisis of the campaign in Balkh, when the enemy 'like locusts and ants' hemmed him in on every side, and steel was clashing all around him, the setting sun heralded the hour of evening prayer: Aurangzíb, unmoved amid the din of battle, dismounted and bowed himself on the bare ground in the complicated ritual of Islám, as composedly as if he had been performing the rik'a in the mosque at Agra. The king of the Uzbegs noted the action, and exclaimed, 'To fight with such a man is self-destruction!' In the decisive battle with Dárá, when the fortune of the day seemed cast against him, and only a small band surrounded him, he revived the courage of his wavering troops by a simple but typical act: he ordered his elephant's legs to be chained together.
On his return towards Lahore from the pursuit of Dárá in Multán, pressing on with his customary forced marches, and riding ahead of his army, as usual, he was amazed to see the Rája Jai Singh, whom he believed to be at Delhi, advancing upon him at the head of 4000 or 5000 Rájputs. The Rája had been a loyal servant of Sháh-Jahán, and it was rumoured that he had hurried to Lahore with the
